Rowan Whitethorn wasn't known for being a people person. He was standoff-ish, brusque, and unsympathetic to practically everyone and everything. He didn't care what other people thought, though. He had his small band of friends–his cadre–and even if he thought some of them were a bit shadier than the darkest recesses of hell, well … who was he to cast the first stone? His friends were who they were, and he accepted them–just as they did him.

Besides his cadre, most knew to stay out of his way. In fact, there was once a rumor that Rowan's resting face was so fierce and so unfriendly that it made small children cry. Again, he didn't mind. He liked it, even. Rowan hated meeting new people and he hated small talk even more. Almost everyone knew to stay out of his way … everyone, it seemed, except his new neighbor.

The white haired man didn't know her name, but she lived across the hall from him in apartment 2B.

He hated her.

She was young–younger than him anyway–and so very loud. Rowan had bumped into her multiple times in the hallway and every time, without a doubt, she'd stop what she was doing and say hello. If Rowan wasn't fast enough he'd get trapped in a conversation about the weather. The idea still gave him nightmares.

Maybe if it was just that, Rowan would let her slide. He knew, after all, that most people felt the need to talk to people–even strangers–about such things. And she was pretty … in an annoying, she knows it so why bother mentioning it sort of way. So what if a deep, burgundy flush overcame his cheeks and ears whenever he thought about her smile or the way her blue eyes would light up whenever they ran into one another. Rowan was nothing if not stubborn, after all.

But it wasn't just her. Oh no, she had friends that were even louder. A dark haired girl with a loud laugh. A boy with long, blond hair who couldn't seem to walk lightly to save his life. And she had a dog, too, that never seemed to stop its howling. Her rag-tag group were always in and out of the place, stomping up and down the hallway as if they owned it. They also seemed compelled to have a party in the apartment every other weekend. What these people did for a living, Rowan had no idea.

Then, one day while coming home after a hard day at work, Rowan heard something new down his hallway and his stomach dropped with dread. It was the sound of a piano being played–badly. It sounded as if a moose was going through labor behind the door of 2B. Staring at the brass numbers on the door, Rowan clenched his jaw and turned away, intending to retreat into his apartment and drown out the sound with his T.V.

He froze, hearing a series of keys clash together as if they were breaking and swerved back around and slamming his fist three times against the door.

The music–if he could really call it that–stopped and Rowan could hear soft, steady foot steps coming towards him. The safety chain rattled on the other side of the door as it was unlocked and then the door opened. His neighbor–his annoyingly good looking neighbor–stared back at him. Her blonde hair was tussled and pushed back, and she tilted her head as her large, blue–well mostly blue, Rowan wasn't sure, but he thought he saw gold in there, too–looked up at him curiously.

Her appearance, however lung-deflating, didn't deter his anger. Staring down at her, he sneered and asked very slowly, "What are you doing?"

She quirked a brow, "What am I doing?" She repeated his question, then smirked in a way that would make lesser men take a step back, "Talking to you, of course."

Lip curling into a full on grimace, Rowan pushed on, "No–that sound you were making. With the piano."

"What about it?" She pushed her shoulders back and stared at him straight on. If he wasn't so pissed, he'd probably be impressed.

"Do you know how loud you were being?"

She rolled her eyes, "It wasn't that loud. And if I don't tune it now then it won't sound any better when I actually play it."

"Wait," Rowan blinked, "that wasn't you playing?" Rowan wasn't musically inclined. He had a very small understanding of music or its objects. he barely even knew what tuning meant, really. And he definitely didn't know it was a thing done to pianos. Guitars, maybe … but pianos?

"No, I … " she sighed and shook her head. "Come on, it'll be easier if I show you." Turning heel, she walked into her apartment, leaving the door open for him. Curiosity piqued, Rowan followed her in. His found his neighbor in her living room–a mirror image of his own, besides the furnishings–standing next to an old baby grand piano.

"I just got it," she explained, then softly pressed down on one of the keys. "But it's been stored away for a long time and no one's been maintaining it." She shrugged. "I know it's loud," she said slowly and locked gazes with him. He understood her, then. He understood the small apology beneath them. Rowan guessed that was as close to an actual apology as he was going to get. "But," she continued, "I promise, once it's in order it'll be worth it."

Rowan slowly stepped closer. Growing up, he'd had a piano in his house, but it was merely decoration as no one in his family was musically inclined–or inclined to learn. He'd never even touched the thing–never even thought about the type of noises–beautiful or otherwise–it could produce.

Cautiously, he reached out, then stopped just inches away from one of the white keys. Looking up, he saw his neighbor watching him curiously. "May I?" he asked, not wanting to overstep. She merely nodded and so he pressed down on the key. The noise it made was deep, soulful, and Rowan wished in that moment that he knew how to play so he could hear more sounds like it.

"I'm almost done with it," his neighbor said softly. Rowan looked up to find her smiling at him. "I can play something for you, once it's tuned. If you'd like."

Rowan looked at her, then back down to the piano. Normally he'd decline, but something in his chest stopped him. He pressed down on the same key again and felt it reverberate within him. Within his soul. Smiling gently, he looked back up, "I'd like that."

His neighbor's eyes lit up–there was gold in them!–and she grinned broadly. Taking a step closer to him, she stretched out her hand. "I'm Aelin."

Taking her warm hand in his, Rowan found her smile was becoming infectious as his own cheeks began to widen. "Rowan."

A/N: Thanks for reading! Leave a review and let me know what you thought. If you have a prompt for me, just let me know! Also, I might add another chapter to this depending on its popularity.